


I'm gonna be naked (and you're wasted)

by Marishna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Derek, Bachelorette Party, Breakfast, College Student Stiles, Consent is Sexy, Drunk Derek, Embarrassed Derek, First Kiss, M/M, Morning After, POV Derek, Stiles Cooks, Stripper Stiles Stilinski, mentioned Erica Reyes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:31:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marishna/pseuds/Marishna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Who are you?" Derek asked, his voice sounding foreign to him. He cleared his throat lightly and grimaced at the scratchy feeling, as if he'd been yelling a lot the night before.</p>
<p>"I thought you might not remember." He stood up and offered his hand to Derek who took it automatically. "I'm Stiles. The stripper."</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm gonna be naked (and you're wasted)

**Author's Note:**

> Want to leave me a/some/many prompts to possibly inspire me this month? Leave them [here](http://marishna.livejournal.com/805275.html)!

Derek woke slowly, his body coming online gradually and the rising consciousness was torture.

His eyes hurt under his lids. His head pounded. His mouth tasted like thick, sweaty socks. His back hurt from laying in one position for too long and he was pretty sure he slept with his neck in a position not humanly possible.

It took him ten minutes to get all his parts moving without wincing to sit on the edge of his bed and contemplate his life from the past 24 hours. As Erica would say, "Look at your life, look at your choices."

Thing was, he couldn't actually _remember_ any of his choices.

He stood up and swayed for a moment before shuffling off to the bathroom. He pissed and felt about ten percent better. Once he brushed his teeth and gargled with the mouthwash he kept at the back of the cupboard because it felt like acid in his mouth he felt about twenty percent better. 

He scrounged for some painkillers. not generally needing any, and gulped three down with a large glass of water. He thought about going back to bed and sleeping the hangover off all afternoon but just as that thought was thumping through his brain he smelled... breakfast?

Derek stumbled to his bedroom door as quickly as he thought he could go and made his way blearily to the kitchen. 

Where a half dressed man, in only a pair of dress pants, was scrambling eggs and frying bacon. The toaster popped and the man had it on a plate and buttered without missing a beat. He sliced it neatly diagonally, scooped some eggs onto the plate and topped them with what looked like green onion and a bit of cheese, and threw on three—no, four pieces of bacon.

He was humming as he worked, back still to Derek who stared at the back of the strange man, dumbfounded. He was still staring when the man turned around holding the plate and jumped a bit.

"Whoa, dude. Warn a guy next time, huh? I was going to bring this to you in bed and see if you needed anything but it seems you got there all by yourself." He put the plate on Derek's kitchen table, where Derek usually sat, and pulled the chair out before turning back to the stove to fix himself a plate.

Derek was still rooted to his spot after the pans were shoved into the sink in hot water and the guy carried his own plate to sit across from Derek's.

"You coming?"

"Who are you?" Derek asked, his voice sounding foreign to him. He cleared his throat lightly and grimaced at the scratchy feeling, as if he'd been yelling a lot the night before.

"I thought you might not remember." He stood up and offered his hand to Derek who took it automatically. "I'm Stiles. The stripper."

_Stripper?_

"I figured since you asked to see my dick I might as well hang around and say hi."

Derek flushed red to the tips of his ears and his eyes got wide. No. 

_No._

"We didn't. Uhh, I mean, we weren't. Did we—"

Stiles laughed. "Don't worry, your virtue is intact. You brought me back here and once you passed out I made sure you wouldn't choke on your own vomit if it came to that and I sacked out on the couch. Your friends _really_ know how to party."

_The **party**_ , Derek thought. Erica's bachelorette that was really just a big mixed party with her running around in a tiara and a boa and lots of penis-shaped novelty items.

Derek stepped slowly around Stiles and sank down in his chair. Stiles followed suit and dug into his breakfast. 

Derek picked up his fork and tasted the eggs tentatively. It wasn't that he didn't trust the near-stranger in his apartment but, well, he watched a lot of _Dateline_. 

Derek made a noise in the back of his throat. "These are good," he said, surprised.

Stiles chuckled. "They're just eggs. If you think those are good you should try my stuffed pork chops and honey glazed carrots."

Derek suppressed a moan at the sound of it. It'd been so long since he really let go while drinking that he forgot how amazing food tasted the next day and how much he wanted to eat _everything_. "That does sound good," he said mildly.

Stiles smiled across the table at him and Derek felt something in his stomach shift and it wasn't the food. 

"So you're a... stripper?" he asked, mentally kicking himself. Why? Why did he need to bring up the one thing that could possibly be the most uncomfortable, awkward, hum—

"Part time. I go to school and work at the library on campus but a couple times a month I work private parties for a friend. It's great money and I only have to put in a few hours," Stiles said easily. 

"Oh," was all Derek could say because that didn't sound so bad. Not like the seedy, over-exposed Hollywood horror show he saw running through his head. He saw _Showgirls_ when he was younger. He knew how things worked. Sometimes. Sort of.

"What do you do?"

 "I do copy editing for a small publishing house," Derek said lamely but Stiles perked up immediately.

"Yeah? What kind? Thriller, sci-fi? Anything goes? Do you get to comb through boring how-to manuals?"

Derek laughed and shook his head. "Mostly fiction from relatively unknown authors. People looking to get their foot in the door."

Stiles nodded, then pointed his fork at Derek. "How on earth did you ever cross paths with the bride-to-be?" 

Derek laughed again, realizing how vastly different he and Erica were and what it must look like to someone outside. "Met her in college. She has a way of dragging people into her orbit. Boyd was part of the package so got to be friends with all of them. No matter how hard I try to shake her off she finds a way to drag me back in."

"No doubt." Stiles pushed his plate away and sat back in the chair, hands crossed over his belly. "I'll do the dishes and get out of your hair."

He stood up and grabbed his plate to take to the sink but Derek reached out and stopped him with a hand on his arm. Stiles was warm and leanly muscled and Derek wanted... 

"Derek?"

Derek shook his head. "Sorry, hangover brain. Leave the dishes. You cooked. It's the least I can do. You're a... guest, I guess. How did you end up here, again?"

Stiles grinned and put his plate on the counter by the sink before leaning against it with his arms crossed. "Erica might've put it in your head that you needed to go home with me and before anyone could talk you out of it you were dragging me down the street from the club, insisting I give you a private show."

Derek's mouth dropped open and he buried his face in his hands, groaning. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry," he said, muffled.

"Don't worry, I didn't do anything I didn't want to," Stiles replied and Derek looked up over his fingers at Stiles who was grinning. "You weren't in any shape to consent to anything so I helped you to bed and you know the rest."

Derek was still mortified. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"No problem. If this helps, I don't do this myself. But you were the boldest shy guy I've ever met and gotta say, if you were a bit more sober I would've climbed you like a tree," Stiles declared casually. 

Derek felt something else on his body shift and it wasn't his stomach. "Oh?"

"Yeah, but now I'm thinking no," Stiles continued but before Derek could feel the swift slap of pain for something he never had Stiles looked at him with a calculating look and said, "I want you to woo me."

"Woo you?" Derek repeated.

Stiles nodded. "Yup. I thought about it last night and this morning when I was poking around your kitchen. I want to date the fuck out of you. And _then_ climb you like a tree."

Derek blinked. "I think I can do that."

"Awesome. I'd love to stay and discuss the terms of our wooing but I have a paper due in a couple days that I still haven't even started and probably a roommate wondering where the hell I am. Question?"

"Okay."

"Is this your phone number?" Stiles asked. He unzipped his pants and pulled down one side enough to show off his hip where, yup, Derek's phone number was written sloppily in what looked like permanent marker.

He fought the urge to hide his face again.

"That's — that's my number," Derek stuttered. Stiles grinned.

"Good, 'cause I already put mine in your phone." Derek shook his head and couldn't believe this was happening to him. Stiles grabbed his shirt from the couch and shrugged it on, a glittery thing that had Derek remembering brief moments of sparkle and loud laughter from the night before.

"I'll call you later, okay?" Stiles said on his way out. Derek just nodded.

That didn't seem sufficient enough for Stiles who walked back to the table, tipped Derek's head back and kissed him. Slowly, deeply, thoroughly until Derek's lips tingled when Stiles pulled away.

"Now that you're sober you'll remember that," Stiles teased and then he left, closing the apartment door softly behind him.


End file.
